Drink hardy lads. Salon breaks the silence where the author writes about the reality of her basic nature versus her feminist instruction. Anytime someone puts “I love I hate” in the title of their article there is real passion being felt (barring hyperbole).
“Male feminists” should read the article and take notes. A woman will never feel for you the way this woman feels for Russian men. They psychologically can’t and your cloying, servile, boot licking, obsequious, approval seeking can only generate contempt. Grow a pair. Note also that her sharpest criticism for Russian men surrounds signs of neediness.
It’s them never respecting that I have my own schedule and that I can’t exist exclusively around their time frame. It’s them calling me every hour to check up on where I am and what I ate, like a needy parole officer. It’s them taking a cup of coffee out of my hands as I’m about to sip it, chucking it into the trash, and saying, “That’s enough. You’ve had too much caffeine today.” I may have been born in Russia, and I may have two passports, but I grew up in New York, and no one gets between me and my coffee.
And after that she heartlessly drives her bilingual shiv into the male feminist heart.
And still, sometimes, when I’m in my egalitarian relationship with an American guy, and I’m freezing my ass off in a mini-skirt outside while being eyeballed by some pervert and my boyfriend is giving me the “You’re an independent woman and you can handle this yourself” look, I can’t help but long for the protective paws of a Russian man, can’t help but feel torn between what I learned at my feminist university and what I grew up with in my patriarchal community, can’t help but feel an internal battle between my rational beliefs and my emotional desires, and I think what every person thinks when they are frustrated with their love life: Man, my parents really fucked me up.
In the war between the animal brain and the neocortex, the animal brain wins every time.